A Stitch in Time
by Lapis Lazuli Ichigo
Summary: After receiving a strange device from Tony, Alfred finds himself thrown back in time-right into the 1500's. Historically detailed. Features Smart!America. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 0: Cold Night Portals

Disclaimer: not mine.

Summary: Sometimes time zones intersect. Features Alfred F. Jones in the past. Sort of.

Warnings: Cursing, dark themes, descriptions of horrific deaths, crimes, history (as accurate as I can possibly be), and American- Awesome-ness.

_Flashbacks_

_**XXxxxxXX**_

_**Prologue:**_

_**Already Gone**_

_**XXxxxxXX**_

Winter held the city in an iron fist, as buildings were covered in huge quantities of snow and ice. Citizens and visitors alike retreated to the warmth of their shelters hoping to wait out the buzzard, yet among the white powder one person was not inside. Huddling within the small confines of a weak blue winter coat that seemed to do little to rid its wearer of the blustering weather, Alfred F. Jones tried his best to ignore the chill.

His hands were shaking, and the tips of his fingers seemed to be a very slight shade of blue no matter how much he tried to warm them. He'd rubbed them together but that proved to be useless and the effort was draining what little excess energy he had so he stopped after while, hoping the blue would vanish after he returned to his lodging. His legs though were considerably better even as they pushed him through the mounds of snow on the sidewalk, aches and pains aside. For some reason, the cold had always had this affect on him—the ability to make his old wounds, old scars burn with pain…

He chuckled coldly to himself, as he adjusted his scarf (a long wool addition baring the United States flag).

He was used to pain.

Both figuratively and metaphorically.

After all nothing compared to the wounds he received from the Civil War or from being hated for the two-thousand nine recession.

Alfred felt the buzzard was easier to face then the cold shoulder he was receiving from many of the nations. Many of whom were not in good moods since the shock numbers were released.

"_What the bloody hell were you thinking?!"_

"_This is irresponsible. I can't believe Amérique could—"_

"_I can't believe you were so stupid—"_

"_Irresponsible, aru—"_

"_Perhaps comrade Amerika is not ready for such power—"_

Alfred sank further into the comfort of his coat trying hard to keep the cold from entering his body. He wasn't good with winter, never had been and standing here amidst the snowflakes; he could feel the fear and pain creeping up. Not just of his allies' words but of that **time**, that horrible time…

_The deep darkness and the feeling of panic, of no one hearing him…_

_The weightless darkness, of reaching for nothing…_

_No one is coming…_

_No one—_

Alfred snapped himself from his thoughts. He couldn't afford to think about **that**. Not now. Right now he needed to concentrate on getting back to the hotel quickly before any of the other nations saw him. He really didn't feel up to hearing more reasons why they hated him.

Digging his hands deeper in to his coat pockets, Alfred sped up, running almost as he passed the Hilton Hotel—the place where the other nations were staying, and taking a back alley to another place. His lodging were at another hotel, something of a coincidence, and at this point a blessing in disguise. Being anywhere near the others was just asking for problems (and yelling) he didn't need.

He'd had enough yelling for one day.

Particularly from his family members—

"_Stupid."_

"_Idiot."_

"_It your fault!"_

"_Your fault—!"_

A loud ringing interrupted his thoughts; he jumped before he shifted remembering in fact that, that unusual sound was from his new phone. He fumbled for a second trying to grab the device before glancing at the caller ID.

If it was one of the nation—he was not going to pick up.

He refused to…but it wasn't.

It was Tony.

"Hello?"

'Where are you?'

Alfred blinked, and glanced around looking for something distinctive to help him figure out where he was. Within the United States, he needn't have bothered but the fact that he was currently in Russia made it necessary. Tentive friendship or not the cold climate was against him in every single way possible. He'd be lucky if he could make out anything in the white swirls—

Catching sight of a street sign Alfred responded.

"Arbat Street, middle of Moscow…why?"

'Some strange spatial shifts seemed to be originating from that area. I am unable to understand why. I would suggest that you—" Static blocked out the rest.

"Tony? Can you repeat that I didn't get that?"

"…be careful…zzst…trouble…"

"What?! Tony?! Can you hear me?!" His grasping the phone tighter, shifting his grip. Maybe he adjusted his fingers the signal would return—

"….."

"Tony?!"

The line went dead.

"Dammit. What was that about?" Alfred said taking the phone from his ear, and glancing at the screen. The little signal sign in the corner of the phone display blinked before vanishing.

There was no signal.

Alfred cursed.

What exactly did spatial shift have to do with anything?

And why did he need to be careful?

Nothing made any sense.

"Stupid phone." He whispered slipping it back into his coat pocket. Useless phone or not, he'd get rid of it later—

He sneezed.

Right now though, he needed to get back to his room before he turned into a popsicle. Squaring his shoulders, he marched on, trying hard to see through the endless streams of snow now coming down in large amounts making seeing anything difficult.

Not that walking was any different.

Upon the ground the snow was up to his knees, freezing him, and wetting his jeans as the snow melted into the cloth. He shivered, limbs going a little numb as he forced himself to go further.

The last thing he needed was to die in this snow storm—Ivan would never let him hear the end of it, if he did.

Stupid cold.

And people wondered why he never wanted to leave his house during the winter?

"Because it's too friggin' cold." He muttered to himself.

He winched a little as his leg scratched something in the snow. No doubt he was going to have a sizable cut when he got back to his room—

He blinked.

"What the hell is that?" He said watching as a strange purple swirling vertex of something floated in a few feet away. Snowflakes and random bits of trash floated into it causing ripple effects across its surface.

He didn't know what it was—

Unless it was what Tony was talking about…?

Whatever.

Alfred preferred not to mess with strange vertexes when he was half frozen. He made to turn to his left when everything was shot to hell.

The vertex grew in depth encompassing the entirely of the street sucking large piece of trash and debris. Alfred grabbed on to a nearby phone post using every bit of strength he had.

But still…

He was slipping!

"Seriously, haven't I suffered enough today?!" He yelled scribbling for a better hold on the metal pole.

He missed fingers unable to hold his weight as frostbitten as they were. He tried to reach for something else—anything to hold him because the vacuum of air was too powerful and anything that would have likely held him was far, far away.

He cursed, looking back as he entered the swirling vertex.

He hated his life.

XXxxxxXX

**Preview:**

Alfred blinked, unable to believe his eyes.

"Arthur?" He whispered.

XXxxxxXX

**Author's Note**: Forgive me! My wrist is a bit better now…though writer's block is a bit annoying. I know what direction I want to go for some of the other fanfictions… it's just trying to get there… Hopefully this prologue wasn't as short and pathetic as I think…

Please **Read** and **Review**!

Alfred needs GPS to find out where the hell he is…


	2. Chapter 1: Status Update and A Maid

Disclaimer: not mine.

Summary: Sometimes worlds intersect. This is one of those stores. Feature Alfred F. Jones in an alternate universe.

Warnings: Cursing, dark themes, descriptions of horrific deaths, crimes, history (as accurate as I can possibly be), and American- Awesome-ness.

_Another Language that isn't English_

_**XXxxxxXX**_

_**Chapter One:**_

_**Within the Forest of Eve**_

_**XXxxxxXX**_

Waking up had to be the most painful experience in the history of mankind. Every single muscle hurt like hell, and cut on his left leg ached terribly. He rubbed his eyes winching as another cut on his cheek made its presence known. Little by little his vision was clearing; his sense of self returning as a familiar all encompassing warmth wrapped itself around him, comforting him, and directing him.

He sat up, rubbing his shoulders; thankfully he hadn't somehow managed to dislocate them (again), and shifted himself so he could get a closer look at the cut on his leg. Sitting cross legged, he surveyed the damage, a little surprised when he noticed how deep the cut really was.

Bleeding still, there were some black specs within it, his jean pants ripped and sticking to the bloodied area like glue. He pushed up the material, and taking a spare handkerchief, and some Neosporin from his sub-space pockets [1], tried to clean the cut as best he could. It was a little difficult without some water but he managed a fairly decent attempt in spite of the short of clean water, and pasted his hanky over the wound. Later on, when he had a chance he'd sew it up, but for now he needed to start moving.

'I must be home.' He thought as he stood up opening his jacket, and shrugging it off. It was way too warm to wear in the sunny weather, and his glasses needed a good clean. In the difference of temperature they were fogging up like crazy. Using his shirt he cleaned his glasses humming a little.

"Maybe this whole spactial thing isn't so bad." He said putting back on his glasses. Brilliant, big trees surrounded him, a light breeze ruffling his hair in a caring gesture. It was good to be home, even if it'd be hell to explain later why he suddenly returned home during the World Conference…

Oh, well.

He figured out something.

For now, he needed to return to Washington, and—

"_Help me! Dammit someone help me!_"

Alfred sped off. The loud, helpless voice more than giving him a hint as to the direction of the victim instead the dull thud in his senses telling him something (or someone) was amiss in his country. He took a sharp turn around some trees, and skid to a halt on the edge of some cliff, glancing around for the helpless person. He spotted a white and green patch of cloth towards the side and raced over reaching a hand out and helping the poor person up.

It was a little girl.

Dressed like a maid.

She climbed up, her clothing almost catching on a stray twig. Alfred blinked at the apparel but said nothing, watching as the tiny individual feebly tried to dust herself off, cursing up a storm. Patches of dirt and leaves covered the green sleeves, and the white lining of the dress was loose and worn, unlikely to be fixed without some outside help. He kneeled down starting to pat down the dress. Instantly the small child turned around, a glare in her eyes.

"_Who the fuck said you could touch me?" _She demanded, tiny arms crossed and a frown upon her face, though it came off as more as a pout then an actual glare.

Alfred struggled not to laugh.

It was just too cute a sight.

He smirked. "No one, but you messed a spot." He said pointing to the dress.

The girl glared, and huffed, going back to her work. She didn't say anything when Alfred pulled some leaves from her short brown hair, or that strange curl in her bangs. It kind of reminded him of the Italy's. The way it bobbed in tune with her emotions and—

"_Aren't you done yet Bastard?"_

Alfred smiled. "Done."

He moved back, standing up and dusted off his hands, feeling a little awkward and a bit curious to how a tiny little girl managed to get herself lost in the forest to begin with. As far as he could tell there were no settlements close to the area, only the encampments of the French further north, and maybe the Spanish missionaries to the south-east and—

Alfred thoughts came to a halt.

His eyes went wide, as he scanned his land again, coming up with the same answer still. There was no trace of any of his major cities and from what he could feel there were a huge number of other nations wondering around the coast. No evidence of any nuclear attacks, no zombies and no killer disease, no nothing.

It was starting to freak him out how, blank his land was. Hell, from the looks of it, he was almost tempted to say he had traveled back into the past—

A chain of loud shouts from below broke his chain of thoughts.

He glanced down, unable to believe his eyes.

On the landing below, two men dressed in long flowing outfits, looking remarkably like 16th century, clashed. Swords, and kicks flying back and forward as the two men fought it out. It was a dance of death, blood spilling in drops and an intense anger coming in tidal waves, unwavering and unrelenting.

But one thing caught Alfred's eye.

"Arthur?" He whispered eyes widening as he watched the intense battle continuing to taking place between the two nations.

He couldn't see who the second nation was too well, their puffy reddish hat, and outlandish style hiding most of their facial features but something about him seemed familiar….

Alfred ducked behind a bush, pulling the small child with him, as they hid in some shrubbery, trying and failing to stop on coming panic attack from overwhelming him. Unless this whole situation was some bad rip off the _Back to the Future_ movies, he was in deep shit.

He was in the past.

XXxxxxXX

[1] Sub-space pockets: an alien tech gifted to Alfred by Tony. If you're really interested in it, check out my other fanfiction called 'Perspective' it talks more about this and some of the alien tech likely to re-appear in this fanfic *hint, hint*.

**Author's Note**: Kind of a crappy chapter considering it's been sitting on my laptop for almost two months, and I couldn't find anything I really liked about it, but I guess it works…. Hopefully, it doesn't make anyone want to stab me or anything...

Anyhow-

Please** Read** and **Review**!

Even if only to complain how much I really should not be writing...


End file.
